As Rare As Rocks
by heyshalina
Summary: My name was Clove Narcis, though that does not matter where I am. I was the girl that was supposed to win the Seventy-Fourth Hunger Games. Here's a hint. That didn't happen. And where I am, "winners" like me are as rare as rocks. Written for Starvation.


**This is another one-shot written for the Starvation Forum's Monthly One-Shot Challenge. The prompt is: Epic. It was a very hard prompt to work off of, actually. I really had some fun with this piece, though getting into the mindset was a bit difficult. Either way, I hope you enjoy it! Don't forget to read and review!**

**Disclaimer: I do not own the Hunger Games or any of the characters, specifically, Clove.**

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I walked with my head held high, bounding up to the stage with a winning smile and a glare that made grown men cower. And why shouldn't they? I was Clove Narcis. I was raised to be above everyone else, because really, they were all below me. They weren't going into the Hunger Games. They weren't going to win. They weren't going to kill every single pathetic child in that arena and become a hero to all of District Two. Of course I was better! My Father wouldn't let me think anything other than the truth. I had been training since I could toddle, holding knives instead of rattlers and whacking the nanny out of her wits. Because I was Clove Narcis. My father was Ajax Narcis. And I was going to win. I was going to be remembered. Winners like me were rare, and for that I was going to succeed. I was going to be a hero, and finally prove myself to the world.

And of course he had to ruin it. That huge buffoon of a boy, a disgrace with no worth, to don himself with a prestigious District Two name. Cato. I spat the name with distaste every time I heard it. I could kill him if I needed to. No question about that whatsoever. He was all talk, with only a short blade to back up his dangerous words. I would take him out from thirty feet away the moment he started walking toward me with a hostile look and blade unsheathed. He was an idiot. Had no chance against me. He walked up beside me like he was the world and more, but I knew better. There would only be one Victor from District Two. And guess who it was going to be? You better guess it right. Me. Nothing would stand in my way.

_Are you happy now, Daddy? I can be a hero_.

I started doubting as soon as I spotted the devilish blonde whore looking seductive and skimpy at her reaping. I kissed all sponsors goodbye, at least for the opening ceremonies. Even Cato left me alone as I stormed out, knocking an Avox down and screaming my head off in anger. Why was it in _my_ year there had to actual contenders for sponsors? Why was in my year, _my_ year, there had to be competition? I mentally slapped myself. There was no competition. I was Clove Narcis. No one compared to me. No one. I was prettier than that girl, with her stupid District One hair and her idiotic District One name. I was better than her, in more ways than one. I would emerge victorious, not her, not Cato. I would shine in the Opening Ceremonies, in Training, my Interview, and most importantly, in the Games. I would be the favorite, and District Two would stand proudly as Panem kissed my feet.

_Are you happy now, Dad? You can show me to the world._

Hatred started to boil through my veins at the Interviews, after that Peeta fool expressed his love for that girl…what was it, Katherine? Katelyn? I didn't know, all I knew was that I _loathed_ her. I swore to learn her name, just so I could spit it when I killed her. She had stolen the show on the Chariot Rides (This I didn't mind as much because she took attention away from the Blonde Sex Wonder), and then gotten an eleven as her training score. An eleven! No one did that to me. No one made me doubt myself the way I doubted myself after my interview. No one made me feel lower than another individual. Because that was just impossible, a preposterous thought. Of course those two Twelves didn't love each other. Not the way Cato loved me. I'd seen him stare at me in a way that made his face only a fraction less ugly. He loved me. Did I love him back? No. Did he make me want to puke and then kill him? Yes. But I needed him to carve my way to victory with force to back me up. So I let him stare. At least he wasn't staring at Glimmer. Or…that girl. I had wanted to bite many people's heads off in my lifetime, but never, never before had I wanted to kill a person so badly. I wanted to stomp all over the Girl on Fire and put those horrible synthetic flames to rest. I wanted to become my Father and win these Games, if only for the feeling of her blood on my face.

_Are you happy, Dad? I can finally do what you wanted._

I knew I had screwed myself over the moment I threw my fourth knife. Because I hit some boy and killed him, but who cares if I was just some lower District kid? What mattered was that he was about to kill _her_, the real threat, and I killed him before he had a chance. It felt like moving a chess piece before looking at the rest of the damn pieces and you lose the game. Except this game was life, and I wanted it more than some school trophy. I wanted her head. I threw my sixth knife, after piercing some girl, and it made a beeline for her head. I was about to kiss the flame goodbye when she deflected it and _stole_ my knife!

Now I wanted to make her suffer. She had humiliated me in front of the whole country, and for that she was going to die. I stabbed another kid as Marvel threw his spear at another loser. Cato roared for a stop when the ground was littered with children. And guess what Blondie did? She killed the scrawny District Three girl. Some help that tramp was. Marvel and Cato rummaged for supplies in the horn while Glimmer picked up essentials by the bodies. I helped, and yanked a backpack up from underneath a boy's body. One of my knives was sticking out of the side of his neck.

_I hope your happy, Dad. Because I am a murderer._

"Kill her." I snarled, stabbing Lover Boy with the daggers I called eyes and flitting my gaze down to the terrified girl under Marvel's boot. "Now."

I knew my quiet dangerous orders did more than Cato's harsh, loud ones. I knew that this pure little boy would kill this girl. But Cato stabbed her, and I narrowed my eyes. I stalked off, and the rest of them followed me. I gritted my teeth and stopped, spinning on the rest of my idiot allies. I couldn't wait for them to die, especially the little Bottle-Blonde. But first I had to find the Girl on Fire, Peeta's little Lover Girl, and make her suffer. If nothing else, make her suffer.

"She's not dead." I hissed. I wasn't sure if I meant the Katniss girl (Peeta muttered about her in his sleep, the pansy), or the little wimp back by the fire. Someone reiterated my statement, and Peeta went back to finish her off. Good. The mama's boy needed some blood on his hands. A cannon fired and I picked my nails with my small blade until Lover Boy stepped back into the clearing, looking troubled yet accomplished. It would take much more than that to get me to feel accomplished. I would not feel accomplished until I was standing in front of the Justice Building in District Two, giving my Victory Speech. Not until I had shaken hands with the President, memory still fresh with the sharp tang of the Fire Girl's blood. If I became a Victor I would be a heroine back in District Two. I would be admired for ages, and feared forever, if only in the Career Districts. But if not everyone admired, or at least feared you, were you a hero? Was I?

_Are you proud of me, Daddy? Am I a hero to you?_

That little brat was clever. Hiding in a tree. So high that not even my knives could defy gravity enough to hit her, never mind kill her. I sat against the trunk of another tree parallel to her hiding place and stared at her. For hours I watched her, plotting her death. Plotting the death of the girl who had ruined me. Sometimes I wished I was not human, because if I was not I would not feel remorse, although I seldom did even that. If I were not human I would not have gone to sleep. I wouldn't have assumed someone else was going to take up the watch.

I wouldn't have let those tracker jackers fall upon us. I was the first to rise, screaming because I knew of the horror the little insects could foist on me. Cato jumped up and ran after the little Fire Girl, who was running away. Lover Boy was soon after him. I should have worried if the little piece of scum was going to betray us, but I was too busy running. I heard someone scream "To the lake!" I was already on my way, far ahead of them. Far ahead of death. The tracker jackers were on Glimmer and the District Four girl immediately, taking them down in a sea of yellow and black. Glimmer's District Partner raced up beside me and together we ran to the camp and waited for Cato and Lover Boy to return, our allies' cannons ringing in our ears. I could tolerate Marvel, for he was much less chatty than Her Royal Blondeness. But after more than an hour I was ready to cut his throat out. I was thankful when Cato returned, even with bad news. Lover Boy had let the girl get away, but Cato had wounded him. I dismissed it. He would be dead soon enough. Everyone would be.

Of course it was her that blew up our food supply. I knew it as soon as I saw the rubble. It was not the little dweeb's fault. Cato didn't need to take his anger out on him. But it had to happen sometime, and it was mostly painless, I believe. I knew that the Fire Girl had done the impossible when I picked up the small, glimmering arrowhead from the rubble later that night. But it was too late. Our supply was gone. The bombs had blown. And I had stood alone when Cato advanced on the kid and snapped his neck. My face had been blank, arms by my side. I had done nothing.

_Look, Dad. Is a story of murder a story of a heroine?_

Two cannons. Cato announced that Marvel had better killed the little Fire Girl and her accomplice, the little child that lived in the trees. Cato screamed that if Marvel died he would kill him. I didn't bother arguing against him, even if he made no sense. Even if all logic was gone. I didn't want to know what had happened, all I wanted was results. And yet we both knew somehow that the results were not those that were desired. The faces at nightfall were proof enough for him, and for me. The Fire Girl was a force to be reckoned with. And I was alone with Cato. I was alone with a mass murderer bent on revenge.

But I was a murder, too.

_You'd better be happy, Dad. Because this path is not as epic as I thought it would be._

This was not supposed to happen. This was not part of my plan. I wasn't supposed to be hungry, so hungry that I was fighting with Cato over a piece of an apple. I wasn't supposed to be vulnerable, so vulnerable that I only had knives left, and no backup. I wasn't supposed to be paranoid, so paranoid that I flung a knife when Cato stepped in the forest beside me.

I wasn't supposed to be in…love.

Love was not on the agenda. Love was irrational. Hell, _liking_ was irrational in the Hunger Games. Cato was my ally, and I refused to think anything else of it. Soon the Fire Girl would be dead, Lover Boy would be dead, Cato would be dead, and I would stand alone as Victor. That was, until the announcement. Cato asked me if we wanted to be dual Victors, to make history _together_. The truth was that I wanted the glory all to myself. I didn't want to share it. But I found myself saying yes, of course we could win together, become legends together. When the sponsor gift came Cato immediately took the armor, saying that he was to need it if he was fighting close combat, while I could kill from far away. I consented. I was stupid. I wolfed down the roll, the duck, everything. I ate most of it and Cato ate the rest, leaving us to wonder what had driven us this far.

_Is this what you wanted, Father? Because it sure as hell not what I wanted._

There. It was my time to shine, to kill this girl that had made my Victory living hell. I chased after that silly little braid, throwing my knife. I had serious déjà vu of that first, horrible day when I decided she wasn't worth it. Of course she was worth killing. She had proven herself thus far. I cursed as my knife missed her, and ran faster. I was faster than that runt. I knew it.

She shot an arrow at me, and it pierced my left arm, and I swore, pulling it out before running again. Fire Girl grabbed her tiny little pack and continued to run. But I would not let her get away again. I threw another knife and it gashed her forehead, sending blood down her face. I cackled triumphantly as her arrow missed completely, and I tackled her to the ground, pinning her so she couldn't move. I felt the loathing come up my throat like bile.

"Where's your boyfriend, District Twelve? Still hanging on?" I asked. I was going to love ripping this girl to shreds. I planned on making a show of it. Just for fun.

"He's out there now. Hunting Cato." She snarls pathetically. "Peeta!"

I punched her in the throat, ready to kill her right then, but I stopped myself. "Liar." I spat. "He's nearly dead. Cato knows where he cut him. You've probably got him tied up in some tree while you try to keep his heart going. What's in the pretty little backpack? Medicine for Lover Boy? Too bad he'll never get it."

She struggled, and I laughed. I opened my jacket and pulled out my most lethal blade. It was my favorite. "I promised Cato if he let me have you, I'd give the audience a good show." Fire Girl struggled even more, but it was completely futile. "Forget it, District Twelve. We're going to kill you. Just like we did your pathetic little ally…what was her name? Rue?"

I went on, purring with satisfaction. I was going to take as long as I wanted. But when the little runt spat in my face, I was done. I was ready to kill her. I was ready to end it all. I was ready to become Clove Narcis, Victor of the Seventy-Fourth Hunger Games.

_You must be happy, Daddy. That I am going to kill this girl now._

Off the ground. Away from my kill. About to be killed myself. I start screaming at the unknown force that has grabbed me, and it all comes crashing down as I see his face. Through it all, I had forgotten about the Beast from District Eleven. We had forgotten. And that was going to be the death of me. The Beast flipped me around and then I was on the ground again, under the wrath of the boy I forgot.

"What'd you do to that little girl? You kill her?" His name flashed in my mind—_Thresh_—as he spoke.

"No!" I cried. "No, it wasn't me!"

"You said her name. I heard you. You kill her? You cut her up like you were going to cut up this girl here?"

I was cursing Marvel in my mind, sending his spirit to hell twice over in terror when I spotted the rock. No. It could not end this way. I could not die under the hand of a Beast Boy holding a stone.

"Cato! Cato!" I screamed, tears streaming my face. It couldn't end this way. I couldn't die. I was Clove Narcis, Victor of the Seventy-Fourth Hunger Games. I was Clove Narcis. I was…

The rock came down, and I knew I was dead. I knew I would not be Victor. I knew I would not be an epic heroine told in the stories of District Two. I knew I was Clove Narcis no more.

The last thing I heard was Cato crying my name. I didn't want my name anymore. But the fact that he screamed it made it that much better, and that much worse. I wanted to be remembered. But the truth was that Careers like me were as rare as rocks, and that the story was over.

_Are you happy now, Dad?_

_Because I'm dead._


End file.
